


as the day is fading

by dicaeopolis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Beaches, M/M, Pre-Canon, lotsa sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 06:18:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12382611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicaeopolis/pseuds/dicaeopolis
Summary: Kuroo has never been to the beach. Bokuto plans to fix that.





	as the day is fading

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keptein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keptein/gifts).



> A BELATED BIRTHDAY PRESENT FOR KEP. look how you inspire me.
> 
> on [twitter](https://twitter.com/dickaeopolis/status/923514713560018944) and [tumblr](http://vivasimplemindedness.tumblr.com/post/166811658478/as-the-day-is-fading)

When Bokuto finds out, midway through the training week of their second year, he howls loud enough to wake up half the camp.

“You’ve never been to the  _ beach?!” _

“Shhh,  _ shhh,” _ Kuroo whispers, alarmed, as if his quietness will make up for Bokuto’s volume. They aren’t  _ that _ far from the dorms - just at the top of the sprints hill, grass pleasantly scratchy against the backs of Kuroo’s legs and neck. The earth is still warm with the day’s sunlight, but the sky above them is huge and dark. Around the two of them, there’s nothing but soft, curling shadows, and a fingernail’s worth of moonlight silvering the grass.

Bokuto half-sits up, leaning on one elbow, and lowers his voice to a somewhat more reasonable roar. His eyebrows are still jumping all over his forehead, though. “Seriously?  _ How?” _

“Uh…” Kuroo props himself up on his elbows too. “I dunno, it never came up? Kenma hates sand, and heat, and bathing suits, and people. And my mom always wanted to go visit family on vacations-”

“That’s  _ terrible,” _ Bokuto interrupts, bristling with indignance. “My cousins have a beach house - we can go this weekend! After camp is over! We can stay the night and come home on Sunday!”

Sunday is their only free day between camp and school. “I have to catch up on homework,” Kuroo begins.

_ “C’mon,” _ Bokuto urges him. “I came out here to look at the stars or whatever with you-”

“You invited  _ yourself-” _

Bokuto rolls his eyes. “I did  _ not. _ You came to the Fukurodani dorm and  _ said _ you were going out to look at the stars, you were  _ so _ angling for it-”

“Okay, okay,” Kuroo cuts him off hurriedly-

“-so you  _ owe _ me.”

_ Dammit. _ Kuroo  _ does _ have to catch up on homework, but.

Bokuto’s eyes are unblinking and luminous in the moonlight. He’s already showered, so his hair’s messy over his forehead, and he’s staring down at Kuroo.

“Alright, alright,” Kuroo groans. “I guess I can study on the train.”

Bokuto crows in victory, and Kuroo hisses at him to shut up again. But he can’t help his tiny spark of excitement.

* * *

Saturday morning dawns bright and sunny, but by the time they’re on the train together that afternoon - Kuroo bent resolutely over his chem textbook, though Bokuto’s fidgeting makes studying more difficult than he’ll admit - the sky is blanketed in pale, uniform grey. As they roll onwards down the coast, the clouds puff and darken into thunderheads.

Bokuto’s knee is jiggling at a fever pace next to him. Finally, Kuroo tears his eyes from covalent bonds. “Relax, Bo.”

Bokuto whines at him. Kuroo huffs a laugh, and Bokuto’s fearsome eyebrows knit together.  _ “Kuroo. _ We’re  _ almost there, _ and you  _ have _ to have sun at the beach.”

“Nonsense.” Kuroo gives up on academic chemistry and slips his textbook into the backpack at his feet. “One should always be able to adapt one’s plans for weather.”

Bokuto rolls his eyes. “Alright, mister  _ future captain.” _

“Pot and kettle,” Kuroo says mildly.

Bokuto snorts. “Funny.”

“I mean it.” Kuroo turns in his seat to examine Bokuto. “You’re the obvious choice - you know that, right?”

“Nah, nah.” Bokuto’s hands flutter in his lap. “I’m all over the place. It’ll be, I dunno, Washio, maybe. Someone who’s got their shit together.”

“No  _ way. _ Washio’s great, but he’s not captain material. You’re perfect for it - you’ve got the head for the game, you’ve got the grit, you put in  _ so _ much work, you’re a beast of an opponent-”

“Dude, shut up, oh my god-” Bokuto’s smiling even as he pushes at Kuroo’s face, and Kuroo smirks back.

“I’m gonna be right, just you wait and see.”

Bokuto grumbles, but he’s still smiling. For a moment, they sit in companionable silence as the countryside speeds by outside the window.

It’s not just the volleyball skill, though. Something about Bokuto makes people follow him - something about his ferocious energy, something about the blinding heat of his smile. Kuroo can’t resist chasing after it from the  _ other _ side of the net. He can’t imagine what it’s like for those playing alongside him.

“It’s still gonna rain at the beach, though,” says Bokuto.

“No worries,” Kuroo tells him. “We’ll just have to hurry up and get there before the clouds open.”

“How are we gonna  _ hurry up _ on a train, dummy?”

“Maybe you should get out and push,” Kuroo suggests.

“Aw, piss off.”

* * *

 

By the time they get to the place - ten minutes from the train station, on sandy pavement with the smell of saltwater soaking into the rain-pregnant air - the clouds are dark and swelling overhead.

Bokuto’s cousins’ house is old, but neat. They drop their backpacks in the entryway, and Kuroo kicks off his sandals. Bokuto is chewing on his bottom lip. Kuroo raises an eyebrow at him. “You good?”

_ “We can’t go swimming if it’s raining!” _ Bokuto bursts out. “And I brought you all this way-”

“Mmm,” says Kuroo. “Can’t we?”

Bokuto cocks his head with a frown. “Of  _ course _ we can’t-”

He cuts himself off with a squawk, because Kuroo’s already grabbed his hand and pulled him out the front door. They half-fall down the three steps of the front porch, and then their bare feet are kicking up sand as they sprint down to the tide. It’s not quite raining yet, but the clouds are steely and the afternoon is dim and grey. A fat raindrop plops down onto Bokuto’s nose, then another, and he splutters,  _ “Kuroo-” _

“Take your clothes off, Bokuto,” Kuroo calls over his shoulder with a smirk. He lets go of Bokuto’s hand to pull off his own t-shirt and toss it down at the high-tide line. Bokuto pauses just long enough to rip off his shirt and throw it behind him. He glances back to watch it land - and then his head whips back towards Kuroo, and a smile begins to spread across his face as he leaps to chase after him.

Their feet have barely touched the water when the skies open up. Kuroo slows to a stop when the water’s up to his thighs, and turns to grin at Bokuto as the rain begins to pock the blue-green water. “See, like I said-”

Bokuto tackles him. They both plunge into the water, just as a breaker sweeps up past them. Bokuto is the first to surface, and shakes his head like a wet dog. When Kuroo appears above the water, his hair is plastered to his head like a sodden black kitten.  _ “Bokuto, you jackass-” _

He lunges for Bokuto, who dances away, cackling. Another wave knocks his legs out from under him - but this time, he catches hold of Bokuto’s wrist and drags him down with him. They splash up again, and Bokuto tells him,

“I’m not sorry!”

“You’re the  _ worst-” _

They barely manage to leap over the next wave. When Kuroo regains his feet, he shakes some of the saltwater from his hair and wipes the drizzle of freshwater from his eyes. “Alright, okay, Jesus.” He starts heading deeper, past where the swells break. Bokuto follows, crowing in delight as another wave slams against the mass of his body. The downpour above mixes with the warmth of the saltwater below, and Bokuto’s delighted laughter rises above it all.

* * *

 

The water’s warm, but the air is plenty chilly. By the time Kuroo’s fingers start to prune, it’s too cold to stay above for long - he and Bokuto have sunken down til they’re just a pair of heads bobbing on the surface, swelling over waves and shouting to be heard through the driving rain. They decide it’s time to go inside once Kuroo’s teeth start chattering.

“It’s cause you’re so skinny,” Bokuto informs him as they pick up their soaked t-shirts from the tide line. “No insulation.”

Kuroo halfheartedly towel whips him with the wet t-shirt. “You’re just made of muscle.”

Bokuto waves a magnanimous hand. “Not my problem.”

He’s shivering too, though, when Kuroo makes him rinse off the sand in the frigid porch shower before they head inside. Kuroo disappears into the bathroom to get some seaweed out of unpleasant places and change into dry clothes. When he emerges, Bokuto has toweled down and is frowning down at the contents of his backpack.

Kuroo pads up next to him and leans on his shoulder. “What’s up?”

“We forgot about lunch.” He points down at the slightly-squashed bento boxes.

“Not a problem.” Kuroo stretches out, looks around the house’s main room. It’s cool and grey in the light of the storm through the windows. There’s a low dining table, mats to sit on, a tall white-painted cabinet.

“Yeah, but I’m  _ hungry.” _ Bokuto looks up from his bag. “What are you doing?”

“Come put this against the wall for me, would you?” Kuroo jerks his chin at the dining table as he paws through the cabinet.

Bokuto stands up and obliges, easily lifting the heavy wooden table. Kuroo makes an approving noise. “Why, though?”

_ Aha - got it. _ Kuroo tugs a blanket out of the cabinet, and turns to flap it at his best friend. “You ever have an indoor picnic?”

So they set up a picnic on the floor of the dining room. Well, Kuroo sets up the picnic on the floor of the dining room. Bokuto wanders the rest of the first floor, shouting back through the rooms when he discovers something notable - a set of speakers in the kitchen, the entire Star Wars franchise on VHS tapes in a milk crate, a beat-up guitar on a stand in one of the bedrooms. The bathroom window had been left open, and a skittish feral cat has crawled in to raise two kittens in the empty tub. Kuroo leaves the dining room to come look at that one.

The place is way too big for just the two of them, but Bokuto fills it up like he always does: upbeat pop on the speakers, flicking on the warmth of the lights, booming laughter. They sit on the blanket and eat slowly, Bokuto snickering over Kuroo’s sarcastic impressions of their coaches and upperclassmen, Kuroo teasing Bokuto for knowing every single word of the newest Ke$ha album. Bokuto sings along anyway, making up in volume what he lacks in tune and functional knowledge of English.

Once they’re done, they leave the remains of dinner on the floor and haul the blanket out to the porch to watch the storm. Bokuto has brought the beat-up guitar, and he picks out chords to bits and pieces of songs they both know. Kuroo offers his easy baritone for  _ I’m Yours, _ leaves Bokuto the verses of  _ Brown Eyed Girl, _ and joins in enthusiastically for the chorus of  _ Sweet Caroline. _

The rain streams off the roof, only a meter or so from their faces. Kuroo hadn’t noticed the thunder from inside the house, but the sky is rumbling and cracking overhead. It’s fully dark by now, but every few minutes, the roiling waves flash white with the blinding heat of lightning.

“It really is one hell of a storm,” says Bokuto, pausing in the middle of  _ Leaving On A Jet Plane _ with a note of admiration.

“Scared?” Kuroo inquires, all innocence.

Bokuto scoffs. “You  _ wish. _ Are you?”

“No way.” Kuroo stretches, long and languid, and puts his arms behind his head. “I was in a  _ typhoon _ once.”

_ “What?” _ Bokuto places the guitar to the side and stares down at him. “When?”

“Oh, I was really little. Like, elementary school. I was staying with my mom’s parents…”

_ (They had hunkered down to weather out the storm, but Tetsurou, seven years old and endlessly curious, snuck out the back door late that night. He sat on the wooden slats of the porch in his Star Wars pajamas, hugging his knees to his chest and watching the wild energy of the winds whipping at the tips of the trees. _

_ The wind was a howl, the rain was a roar. Tetsurou sat for hours, til his legs were stiff and sore, letting the ferocity of the storm rage around him. Dawn was nearing by the time the typhoon reached its peak. The clouds towered higher, the winds screamed louder, the rain drummed down on the roof of the porch, and then- _

_ The storm stopped. _

_ All was calm, all was still. _

_ One breath of air flowed into Tetsurou’s lungs - one breath of air flowed out. _

_ And then the other edge of the eye hit the old wooden porch. The trees began to thrash before Tetsurou’s dazzled eyes, and the typhoon roared to life once more.) _

When he finishes the story, Bokuto, next to him, is still.

“Don’t typhoons usually, like, rip limbs off trees and roofs off houses and stuff like that?” he asks. “They’re pretty hard to handle.”

“Eh, I don’t think so.” Kuroo sits up, cracks his neck, watches Bokuto through the darkness. “I liked this one fine.”

The storm crashes against the sand.

“Hey,” Bokuto says quietly. “Thanks for coming to the beach.”

Kuroo lifts one shoulder in a shrug, suddenly embarrassed. As if there was really any chance he’d say no. “You know I’d follow you anywhere.”

Half a heartbeat later, he realizes exactly what he’s said. Bokuto is staring at him, eyes huge and oddly bright. Kuroo swallows. “I - I mean-”

Bokuto lunges forward.

Kuroo doesn’t even realize what’s going on until Bokuto’s teeth clack against his. His hands fly up to Bokuto’s shoulders - but Bokuto is already stuttering backwards.

There is a long, huge moment.

Kuroo is frozen. Like the pause before a bass drop - a silent roar of pounding blood and screaming adrenaline, so swollen full it  _ aches. _

Bokuto must see the huge moment on Kuroo’s face, because he asks, hesitant like he never is, “Kuroo-?”

“I,” Kuroo croaks. He swallows, tries again. “I -  _ fuck. _ You’re, you’re gonna have to say it first, Bo. I’m not - I can’t-”

“Kuroo,” says Bokuto, simple and clear. “I like you.”

Kuroo’s breath shudders out of his lungs.

Bokuto is taking his hand. Bokuto is asking if he’s alright. Kuroo leans forward, clumsy and fumbling, to kiss him again.

“I like you too, oh my god,” he mumbles against Bokuto’s lips. “I like you  _ so much _ \- I-”

He gives up on talking and just lets Bokuto push him down on the picnic blanket to kiss him again, again, again.

* * *

 

Mornings aren’t as easy as they used to be for Kuroo. He’s never been much for waking up early - that’s always Bokuto - but lately, it’s been getting harder and harder to move from the quiet warmth of the pillows.

When he does manage to rouse himself, his bones are stiff, creaky like worn wooden floors. In the bathroom mirror, his hair’s gone silvery-grey - not quite Bokuto’s pure white, but nowhere near his old pitch-black. Less like a panther, more like a snow leopard.

Or maybe something like an old, old man.

He smiles at his reflection as he shaves anyway. His eyes are still sharp as ever, after all.

In the kitchen, Bokuto is bounding around making coffee. He’s only wearing his boxers, and though his skin’s wrinkly and rough for the years, he’s still muscular and limber. He’s humming, noisy and off-key, so he doesn’t notice Kuroo’s presence until Kuroo slides up to pinch somewhere south and comment,

“Put some clothes on, you teenager.”

Bokuto yelps and spins around.  _ “Hey _ \- g’mornin’, I love you -  _ what was that for?!” _

“Moooooorning,” Kuroo singsongs. He crosses to the coffeepot, lifts it off the drip, and pours a hefty glug of the black sludge directly down his throat. “Dancin’ around in your underwear like that, you’d think we were still in high school.”

Bokuto snorts, following after him and propping his chin on Kuroo’s shoulder. “Maybe you’re just getting old.”

Kuroo puts the coffeepot back on the drip, leans back into Bokuto’s chest. “Aren’t you older than me?”

“Only two months.” Bokuto’s hand trails up the side of Kuroo’s neck, and the pad of his thumb presses into the laugh lines at the corner of Kuroo’s eye. “And look at these wrinkles!”

“Now, be fair.” Kuroo catches hold of Bokuto’s hand and turns to press their foreheads together, smiling into the centimeter between their lips. “You put those there.”

Bokuto’s eyes brighten with delight. “Yeah,” he says, and kisses Kuroo, just once. “Suppose I did.”


End file.
